


Courage

by Jay_eagle



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Douglas, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post Episode: Zurich, Top Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is back in the country from Zurich for a night, and Douglas is definitely not going to tell him how he feels.</p><p>No. Definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courage

**Author's Note:**

> (AU where Princess Theresa conveniently... doesn't exist. Or is gay. Or is generally not in a relationship with Martin. Whichever way you interpret it, there's no cheating here.)

“Martin!” Douglas’ back hit the wall so hard his breath rushed out of him with a _whoosh_. His hands didn’t stop, though, tugging Martin’s hips back flush against his, enthusiastically groping at his arse, two delicious handfuls that he massaged, sending Martin’s eyes hooded and sparking with desire.

 

“Douglas.” Breathlessly, Martin kissed him again, again, till Douglas was dizzy with it; tipping his head back against the wall, saved only from bumping his skull by Martin’s palm at his nape. Douglas’ hands tugged urgently at Martin’s shirt, yanking it from his trousers so he could run his hands avariciously up the small of Martin’s back, wondering at the smooth skin, the shift and pull of Martin’s muscle over bone beneath.

 

“You really –“ Douglas gulped, and continued. “Really want this –“ It wasn’t a question, not exactly, more a revelling in the revelation. Martin’s hand had brushed his, downstairs, over the dinner Douglas had cooked, and without thinking Douglas had clasped it in his own. Abruptly it had ceased to be a matey catch-up, Martin back from Zurich just for one night, and had instead become a heart-pounding tangle of limbs as they’d risen – comically, as one – and crashed together, pent-up tension collapsing like the crest of a breaking wave drawn to the shore by inescapable gravity.

 

They’d tumbled upstairs, half-laughing, half-gasping, and now they were in Douglas’ bedroom. His _bedroom_ , for goodness’ sake. Martin in his arms, he in Martin’s, head spinning with the nearness of him after months apart –

 

“Douglas, _please_ –“

 

“Yes.” Feverishly, Douglas helped Martin to yank off his jacket, tugged at the buttons of Martin’s shirt till it joined Douglas’ jumper on the floor. There was a moment where both pairs of eyes flicked down, each man taking in the sight of the other, Douglas’ silver-shot chest hair close enough to mingle with Martin’s sparser auburn. Almost shyly, Martin brushed a knuckle down Douglas’ sternum, and the silence was broken by Douglas’ choked swallow.

 

Martin’s eyes flitted up, meeting Douglas’. “Um,” he said, nonsensically, then shifted his knuckle left, nudging Douglas’ nipple and sending a spark through his chest. “Yes?”

 

“Yes.” Douglas bent his head, then, and kissed Martin again, wondering how he’d managed even half a minute without his lips caressing Martin somehow. Now the feeling he’d tried so hard for months to suppress was being given free rein, Douglas found himself carried away by it, as helpless to resist the surge of emotion as a leaf caught in a river rapid.

 

Not that Martin seemed any less captivated, his hands roaming over Douglas’ skin wherever he could get at it, seeking out the feel, the warmth, the sense of him through his palms. His fingers slid downwards, probing beneath Douglas’ belt. Without a second thought Douglas reached to undo it, his trousers shoved down and out of the way instantly by Martin. Douglas stretched up, urging Martin’s fingertips lower, holding him closer and hoping that Martin would intuit his meaning without words.

 

Martin hesitated just for a moment, but at another pointed wriggle from Douglas he seemed to take his courage in both hands and slipped a finger gently into Douglas’ cleft, stroking to and fro so gently that Douglas shivered at the tenderness of it. “Oh, please,” Douglas whispered, between kisses, and didn’t even care how needy he sounded.

 

Martin didn’t stop stroking, his finger catching a little on the dry skin, but he drew away enough to ask “You mean –?“

 

Douglas screwed up his bravery, hiding his fear behind a waggle of eyebrows that made Martin abruptly snort with laughter. “I do,” he said, and the yearning in his tone was plain enough to cut Martin’s chuckle off in the middle. “I want you to.”

 

“Do you have – um – anything?” Martin stepped back, the picture of dishevelment, his SwissAir trousers gaping open at the fly.

 

Douglas nodded, stepping out of his chinos, trying to ignore the erection swaying rather absurdly in front of him through his boxers as he did so. “I’ll just get it.” He quirked a grin. “Make yourself comfortable.”

 

It was the work of a few seconds to dive into his ensuite to pick up the small bottle and a condom. A quick – humiliating – check to make sure the latter was still in date (the Douglas of a decade before wouldn’t have needed to bother, a tiny, spiteful voice reminded him, though he silenced it) and then he was back in the bedroom, coming unintentionally to a halt at the foot of the bed to stare down at Martin, lying not-quite-nonchalantly back against the pillows piled against the headboard. A delicate flush coloured Martin’s cheekbones, though he was clearly making an effort to appear confident under Douglas’ scrutiny. Martin stretched out a hand. “Got it?”

 

“Yes.” Douglas abandoned his attempt to memorise Martin, half-naked, pale and freckly and thin and still the most alluring sight he’d ever seen, and climbed as elegantly as he could manage in the circumstances to join him. “The _sight_ of you,” he growled, and leant to press an open-mouthed kiss to the area just above Martin’s heart.

 

Martin spluttered. “I’d like to see _you_ look dignified when _you’ve_ just been kissed senseless –“

 

Douglas’ laughter bubbled up and overspilled before he could prevent it. “Shh, no, no,” he managed. “I meant – you look – oh _god_ , Martin.” His laughter swallowed up by a fresh rush of lust, he conveyed his meaning instead through another desperate kiss, finding Martin’s bare hip and tracing the jut of bone with fingers made uncoordinated with desire.

 

“Oh.” Martin sounded disbelieving, but at a run of kisses from Douglas down the tendon that stood out on his neck changed his exhalation into a moan.

 

“Shh,” Douglas admonished, gently, drawing a knee up over Martin’s thighs, rocking into Martin’s hip to rub the evidence of just how devastatingly attractive he found Martin to be against him.

 

Martin rolled into Douglas, clutching him close and retracing the path down Douglas’ spine to rub and press against his hole, slender fingers dancing and making Douglas arch his back at the thought of what he wanted Martin to do. “Here,” Douglas muttered, and rather shakily uncapped the little bottle, pumping a _squish_ of clear liquid into Martin’s proffered hand.

 

“Roll over?” Martin tugged one-handed at Douglas’ boxers, and Douglas hastened to discard them as Martin warmed the lubricant between his fingers. Douglas jumped as Martin kissed between his shoulder blades. “You really -?”

 

“More than anything. Please.” Douglas was not a man who begged. Never. But he couldn’t remember wanting something so very much ever before.

 

Martin kissed him again, then returned to the massaging motion he’d been using previously, the feeling of pleasure magnified by the slip and slide of the lube. Douglas tried to stifle his panting, ashamed to be showing just how desperate he felt, but Martin smacked him – not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shock – and in a voice made rough with desire, Martin growled “Don’t hide it.” Another kiss, to Douglas’ neck this time, and Martin’s breath was hot in his ear. “I want you, too.” Martin’s finger slipped inwards for the first time, and Douglas moaned and bore down to let him in. “I want you, so much.”

 

It was true – the honesty in Martin’s voice was transparent – and Douglas’ heart bounded as he reached an arm to draw Martin still nearer to him. Martin willingly responded, lying down so his slight weight was mainly supported by Douglas’ side, resting his head on Douglas’ shoulder blade. He was watching the thrust of his fingers in and out, Douglas could tell, and at a particularly twisting push inwards he felt his own shudder of bliss echoed in a purring moan from deep within Martin’s chest.

 

“Glad you came back?” Douglas didn’t know where the question came from. Some part of him was still trying to protect himself, to hide the way he was feeling from the man whom he’d known for months had the power to hurt him as no one else had been able to – not since Helena, years before.

 

“Don’t.” Something trembled in Martin’s tone, and he withdrew his fingers – three now – for a second, making Douglas whine and chase backwards with his hips in search of them. “No reality. Not now.”

 

“Agreed.” A tiny sliver of ice filigreed over Douglas’ soul, and he closed his eyes. “I’m ready.”

 

“I know.” Douglas couldn’t read the emotion in Martin’s voice, but the brush of sticky fingers over the curve of his rear was unmistakably tender. “How do you want…” Martin trailed off, his hand resting at Douglas’ hip.

 

“I want to see you.” Douglas rolled onto his back, meeting Martin’s eyes again, marvelling at the expression on his face.

 

Martin half-smiled, but it was lost as he kissed Douglas’ lips again, tracing his tongue lightly over the seam of them and then inwards as Douglas let his mouth fall open, his hands clutching at Martin’s body as if he might dematerialise. Martin huffed appreciatively, wriggling on top of Douglas and just about managing not to catch him with elbows or knees as he did so. Hastily, Douglas raised bent legs to cage Martin’s hips, planting his feet to angle himself better. He groped for Martin’s arse again, unable to resist rocking upwards in anticipation.

 

Martin’s moan of desire was a deeper noise than Douglas had ever heard Martin make; a bass note that throbbed through Douglas’ chest. Martin was kissing at his neck, now, licking and nibbling as his right hand slid between them, nudging at Douglas’ cock inadvertently and making him hiss. It was his own cock that Martin was reaching for, though; gripping to guide his path downwards, seeking the smooth, nearly hairless patch behind Douglas’ balls, and lower until his cockhead brushed Douglas’ rim.

 

Douglas gasped at the feel of it, his hips twitching unconsciously and making Martin lose the spot for a second. “Hold – still – please –“ Martin’s hand on Douglas’ pectoral muscle pressed more firmly, and Douglas collected himself enough to obey, allowing Martin to breach him – just the smallest amount.

 

“Martin.” Douglas hadn’t meant to speak, but it seemed that if he wasn’t to be permitted to move, his body needed him to respond _somehow_. As if the sound of his name had been invitation, Martin pushed a little further inwards, and Douglas’ hands on his rear gripped still more hungrily.

 

“Is it OK?” Martin’s whisper was harsh. Douglas opened his eyes to see the strain of restraint written clearly on his former captain’s features. He nodded, mutely, sliding a hand rapidly up Martin’s side to tangle in the hair behind his ear, marvelling at the softness of the down there.

 

“More,” Douglas said, unsure whether he was demanding or begging. Fortunately, Martin seemed inclined to be merciful; he let out a soft sigh that Douglas took to be relief, and moved gently – so gently – deeper, opening Douglas up in a way that he hadn’t felt for more than a decade, but which his body clearly remembered well. “Yes,” Douglas murmured. “Good.”

 

“Good,” Martin agreed, lines in his forehead revealing the force of his focus on the sensations he was creating for them. “Can I just…” He drew back an inch or two, then drove forward again, claiming Douglas even more deeply than the first time, making Douglas curse and cage Martin tighter between his thighs.

 

“Again, god –“ Douglas rocked upwards, trying to demonstrate what he wanted, _more, faster, now_.

 

Martin groaned, and rode the surge of Douglas’ motion, beginning to thrust properly. His inward drives were smooth and rhythmic; the pace predictable in a way that ought to have been boring but in fact wound Douglas’ body tighter and tighter as if greedy for all it could get. Douglas was panting, but so was Martin; without warning Martin doubled his speed, harsh breaths mingling with Douglas’ name and the odd muttered word Douglas couldn’t catch but whose tone was unmistakably adoring.

 

Douglas couldn’t get enough, suddenly. Martin was nudging inside him so perfectly, was kissing his cheeks, his mouth, in between gasps for air – but he wasn’t sufficiently  _near_. Douglas raked his nails down Martin’s back, just shy of breaking the skin, making Martin throw his head back with a curse word that Douglas had never heard him use. A moment’s worry that he’d gone too far reared up in Douglas but was quelled an instant later as Martin bent back to worry Douglas’ lower lip with his teeth, soothing the nip with a kiss.

 

“Closer,” Douglas pleaded, and enveloped Martin in an embrace, pulling him down until their chests met and Martin was left balancing on his elbows rather than his hands, half-laughing at their lack of elegance. The levity was fleeting, Martin’s thrusts redoubling as he made up for the loss of room to move with an increase in pace.

 

“Douglas.” Martin’s forehead dropped onto Douglas’, and Douglas felt his ex-colleague’s words as breath on his lips. “Are you – I’m so –“

 

“Close.” Douglas answered the question Martin couldn’t finish. He wriggled one hand between them, reluctantly foregoing the hold he’d had round Martin’s shoulders in favour of attempting to finish them off simultaneously.

 

Martin felt Douglas stroking his cock between them, Douglas’ knuckles brushing his stomach, and crooned appreciatively “Yes, that’s it.”

 

Douglas wanted to shut his eyes, but resisted. He wanted to see Martin – if this was his only chance – He tamped down hard on the abrupt upsurge of mournful longing, focused only on Martin’s gaze. “I can feel you, Douglas – that’s - _there_.” Martin kissed him, a snatched thing that Douglas chased hopelessly. “I want to see you… watch you get yourself off.”

 

“Like- wise –“ Douglas stuttered, tugging so fast at himself that it bordered on painful. “Please. Want to feel you come.”

 

Martin whined, the incipient crow’s feet wrinkling at his eyes as he trembled. “Christ – you’re going to make me –“

 

“Oh, god, me too, please,” Douglas held Martin more tightly still, forgetting that he might leave bruises. If Martin didn’t flinch away, nor would Douglas. “I’m – nearly – _yes_!”

 

Martin had shoved deep, gone still and shuddering, his head thrown back so that Douglas could lurch up and plant one open-mouthed kiss to the dead-centre of Martin's throat before the feel of Martin’s cock jerking inside him was enough to trip Douglas over the brink as well. Douglas groaned as he spent, the waves of warm, tingling pleasure seeming to shoot from his toes right to his groin, the contact between the two of them suddenly sticky and wet.

 

Martin let out a long sigh as he rippled backwards and forwards for a few seconds more, chasing the last of their bliss, before he slipped out – just about remembering to grip the condom and one-handedly dispose of it into a tissue he’d apparently readied while Douglas had been finding the lube. Douglas clenched at the sudden emptiness, and hastily linked his hands round Martin’s back once more, ignoring the transfer of ejaculate from palm to palm. Something in him was horribly worried, despite the deep, throbbing contentment lingering in the pit of his stomach; if Martin was about to fly away, then Douglas was going to cling onto this moment for all he was worth.

 

To Douglas’ surprise, Martin didn’t seem to object. He snuggled into Douglas’ chest, their softening cocks bumping slightly and making them both shiver with over-sensitivity. Silence expanded, filling the room, seeming as loud as a hurricane in Douglas’ consciousness. He longed to kiss Martin’s hair, to stroke his cheek – but suddenly that didn’t seem appropriate.

 

It was Martin that broke the reverie, reluctant though he seemed to be to do so. “Can I use your shower?” he asked, not looking up, but instead posing the question in the direction of Douglas’ left armpit.

 

“Of course.” Douglas slowly loosened his hold, allowing Martin to roll off him, slipping awkwardly sideways to sit up. “Towels are in the cupboard.”

 

Martin shot Douglas a grin, but it was one that didn’t reach Martin’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said, and stood, rubbing one elbow. “I’ll just - er, yes.”

 

Douglas watched him slip into the ensuite, then let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh. At the sound of the shower starting up, he hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the mess already beginning to crust on his skin, the lube going tacky between his cheeks. He would hardly make an enticing picture to a freshly-washed SwissAir FO in this state. Pausing to snag clean underwear from his drawer, he gave a half-hearted tug to the bedsheets – which failed to fix their utter disarray – and then lumbered towards his guest bathroom to clean up.

 

He thanked his stars that he’d only indulged in a lick and a promise in the tub when he suddenly realised that the footsteps he could faintly hear were Martin’s, descending the stairs. Groping urgently for a robe, he’d only managed to get one arm into it as he hurtled onto the landing, nearly falling down the steps in his hurry. “Martin?” he called, skidding to a halt in the hall in time to see Martin reaching for his hat from the side table, once again the embodiment of professionalism (if one ignored the new crumples in his hitherto-pristine white shirt). “What – where are you going?”

 

Martin shrugged, smiling again, just as falsely as before. “It’s fine,” he said.

 

“What is?” Suddenly conscious of his semi-nudity, Douglas felt futilely for the other sleeve of his dressing gown, before realising he was putting it on backwards. “You’re not making sense.”

 

Martin rolled his eyes with a forced chuckle, stepping forwards to help Douglas wriggle the robe around the right way. “I know when an evening’s over.”

 

“Clearly you _don’t_.” Douglas sounded more nettled than he’d meant to, but Martin’s assistance had brought the two of them close together again, and he could smell Martin – a lingering scent of Douglas’ own shower gel mixing appealingly with Martin’s own natural fragrance, the two in combination making Douglas weak at the knees.

 

“Oh, come _on_ , Douglas.” Martin stepped back, frowning. “I’ve seen enough stewardesses sashaying out of your room looking slightly dishevelled over the years to know you don’t like your one-night-stands to stay till morning.”

 

Douglas gaped, utterly floored – both that Martin had bothered to register such a piffling detail and also that Martin considered what had happened a one-night-stand. “Only – only when I’ve got a flight the next day,” he countered, aware too late that it wasn’t the rebuttal he’d meant to make.

 

“You _have_ got a flight the next day. Tomorrow, I mean.” Martin looked determined, and Douglas didn’t understand why.

 

“Wait.” Douglas reached out before letting his hand fall. “I know I’ve got a flight. And so have you.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “But… at least let me give you dessert.”

 

Martin took a moment, mulling the offer, before something inside him seemed to give, and he nodded. “A-alright then.”

 

Douglas nodded, and gestured back towards the dinner table. He didn’t quite trust that if he turned his back on Martin, Martin wouldn’t disappear through the front door.

 

They went into the kitchen together, Douglas hastily clearing aside the wrecked remains of their main course, retrieving the two portions of crème brulee from the fridge that he’d fortunately pre-prepared. Martin raised his eyebrows, looking surprised but pleased. “My favourite?”

 

“I thought it was.” Douglas would have been satisfied that Martin had noticed, earlier, but not now. He passed a teaspoon over, a tiny flicker of warmth and nerves in his stomach as their fingers fumbled together for a second. “ _Bonne continuation._ ”

 

“ _Et toi_ ,” Martin replied, smoothly, making Douglas blink.

 

“Your French has improved,” he said, trying to sound neutral, and Martin gave a strained laugh.

 

“SwissAir,” Martin said, by way of explanation, and Douglas’ hopes sank through the floor again.

 

They ate in silence, the tension palpable and not as easily cracked as the caramelised sugar topping the dessert. Martin cleared his throat, making Douglas look up. “It’s good,” he said, gesturing with his spoon.

 

Douglas gave up on subtlety, and took a vain chance. “What is?”

 

Martin hesitated. “The crème brulee, of course.”

 

“The rest… wasn’t?” Douglas’ heart was in his mouth.

 

Martin froze, then set his spoon down, taking a moment to align it fussily perpendicular with the edge of the table, clearly delaying his answer. “Of course the rest was… good,” he said, eventually, not meeting Douglas’ eyes.

 

“Are you still talking about the food?”

 

“… Are you?” Martin looked up, then, his expression shuttered.

 

“No.” Douglas reached out, tentatively. Martin watched the stretch of his hand across the table, and didn’t draw away, though he made no effort to meet him. Douglas could just reach to close gentle fingers over the back of Martin’s hand, and he held them there. “It wasn’t what I was expecting when I asked you for dinner, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t…” Douglas sighed. “I liked it. A lot.”

 

Martin withdrew his hand, bunched his fists in his lap. “What are you saying?”

 

“I don’t know.” Douglas shrugged in frustration. “I –“

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t want a one-night-stand.”

 

Martin blinked uncomprehendingly, perplexity evident in his expression. “But – are you saying you didn’t want that to –“

 

“Martin, for god’s sake.” Douglas stood up and paced rapidly round the table, causing Martin to rise also, looking almost defensive. “It’s fine if you don’t want the same thing, of course it is, but I was rather hoping…” He trailed off, courage abruptly failing him, evaporating in the face of such blank confusion.

 

It seemed to take Martin a moment, seconds ticking away between them, a pair frozen like an odd tableau in place. Then Martin’s jaw dropped, and Douglas’ heart restarted. “You were hoping?”

 

“I was.” Douglas cleared his throat, awkwardly.

 

Martin shook his head. “No, Douglas.”

 

“No?” Douglas balled his hands so hard his nails dug into his palms, his stomach descending somewhere towards the core of the earth, far from him.

 

“Not ‘ _no’_.” Martin jerked his chin. “I mean – ‘No. You’ll have to be clearer’.” Douglas still couldn’t read his expression, but Martin was at least meeting his eyes, now. “Say it. Say what you mean.” More gently, Martin added “Please.”

 

Screwing up all his nerves, Douglas reached for Martin’s hand again, entwining their fingers, this time not meeting resistance – a tiny detail which buoyed him just slightly. “I was hoping,” he said, enunciating clearly, terrified of a further misunderstanding, “that we might make this… more than once. And – by _this_ –“ he rushed on – “I mean, not just the sex. Which was lovely, but –“ he jerked his head at the table. “I mean… dinner. And seeing you. And…” his eyes drifted downwards, and he lifted their joined palms to brush a kiss to Martin’s knuckles. “And holding your hand.”

 

“Oh.” Martin sat down, suddenly, a _huff_ of breath leaving him. “Goodness.”

 

Douglas felt horribly isolated, standing awkwardly alone. “I –“ He straightened his back. “It’s fine if the answer’s no.” It wasn’t fine. But Martin's fingers still gripped his.

 

“The answer isn’t… no.” Martin seemed completely blindsided.

 

“But... it isn’t yes.” Douglas fumbled behind him, miraculously finding a spare stool to draw round to sink down upon. “What is it?” he asked, trying not to force, perhaps failing.

 

Martin glanced over at him, ruefully. “You’ll laugh.”

 

“I won’t.” Douglas was curiosity personified, now.

 

“You will.” Martin sighed, though his face smoothed out. “But it doesn’t matter.”

 

“What?”

 

Martin cast his eyes to the table. “Did I ever tell you I used to do a bit of drama at school?”

 

“Acting? No.” Douglas was at a loss to understand how the topic was relevant, but he fell silent to allow Martin to continue.

 

“Well, I did. My Mum thought it would… I don’t know, help my confidence, or something. I used to do the acting exams, and get mediocre marks, but… when I was 16, I had another one to take.” Martin inhaled deeply, and continued. “Just me and an examiner, in a little room. And the first thing you do is explain which speeches you’ll be reciting… so I told her that I was reciting from Romeo and Juliet.” Martin’s hand tightened on Douglas’. “And immediately she said – nose all wrinkled – ‘Oh, you’re not acting _Romeo_ , are you?’”

 

Douglas realised with a start that his thumb was caressing Martin’s wrist. But Martin didn’t pull away, just carried on speaking, the words tumbling out of him, disgust vivid in his tones. “I wasn’t, as it happened – I was being Capulet. But that was the day I knew.” He didn’t seem to be able to look at Douglas. “I wasn’t ever going to be _Romeo_.” A horrid, hollow laugh. “I’m – I’m a _supporting character,_ Douglas. I always have been. I’m not – not a lead in any kind of sweeping, romantic drama. You can’t…” Martin seemed to steel himself. “You can’t ask me to be.”

 

Douglas didn’t let Martin’s hand go, but he did use his free hand to tug his stool closer, so their knees slotted together. Anger was churning inside him, but he squashed it back, managing to speak calmly. “That one examiner’s ridiculously _narrow_ assessment aside,” he said, “what on earth makes you think that – at my time of life – I’m even looking for a Romeo?”

 

“Don’t be stupid.” Martin looked startled. “Everyone is.”

 

“I’m not.” Douglas saw the stare of disbelief and without thinking, lightly gripped Martin’s chin, smoothing his jawline with a tender thumb. “Quite apart from fearing I’d risk arrest were I pursuing some kind of… lovesick teenager with amorous intentions…” He paused, relieved at Martin’s sudden half-smile. “I don’t want _Romeo_. He’s an idiot. He throws away his own happiness for someone he barely knows; he’s a ball of rage and immature passion and – and honestly, it’s not for me.” Douglas gave a shrug. “I’ve never had much sympathy for him. And I’ve done too much chucking my own happiness out in the past for that to hold any attraction for me now.”

 

Martin was watching him, something tentative that might have been an echo of hope in his eyes. “Then… what do you want?” he asked, so quietly that Douglas wouldn’t have heard him had they not been seated so close together.

 

Douglas didn’t answer in words. Instead he leant forwards, and Martin’s lips met his; not the fiery, climactic passion of earlier, but instead something much softer and sweeter – long-denied and finally blossoming. Martin’s hands were in Douglas’ hair, Douglas’ palms gripping Martin’s shoulders, sliding round after few minutes to hug him close in an embrace only made awkward by their knees in the way.

 

Eventually, they broke, each searching the other’s face for affirmation. They seemed to find it at about the same moment; smiles breaking out like the sun peeking over a hill at dawn. “You really do,” Martin said, questioning no longer.

 

“I do.” Douglas’ pulse was aflutter in every part of him. “Yes.”

 

“We won’t be able to see each other much.” Martin’s brow wrinkled.

 

“Shh.” Douglas had had quite enough reality for one evening. “Skype is a marvellous thing, or so my daughter tells me.” Martin chuckled. “And I get enough free time at OJS that I can spend at least some of it in Zurich.”

 

Martin’s eyes widened. “You can?”

 

Douglas laughed at such patent amazement. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve realised,” he said, seriously, “but being a pilot does mean you get extremely used to distance not really being an issue when it comes to plans you’re determined to see to fruition.”

 

“And I’m… a plan?” Martin sounded slightly breathless, and Douglas smirked and gathered him close, pulling him precariously onto his lap so that Martin had to grip Douglas’ nape with a yelp to avoid slipping off.

 

“You’re _my_ plan,” Douglas growled, and failed to object when Martin melted against him and captured his lips in another soft kiss by way of approval.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to look me up on Tumblr - jay-eagle.tumblr.com.


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